


A Little Longer Here With You

by a_fandom_affliction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blades, Angel Wings, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Dean in Denial, M/M, losers - Freeform, smiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fandom_affliction/pseuds/a_fandom_affliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean figures that, by now, he shouldn't be surprised when a run-of-the-mill salt n’ burn ends up as a demon slaughter-fest. It should be normal to need to whip out a few angel blades and the demon knife, because, well, it ain't no secret that they have the worst luck ever. In fact, it'd probably be a good idea to start off every hunt with the demon/angel/jackass-killing weapons already out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Longer Here With You

 

It all goes to shit after the first two minutes in the dilapidated townhouse.

           

Dean figures that, by now, he shouldn't be surprised when a run-of-the-mill salt n’ burn ends up as a demon slaughter-fest. It should be _normal_ to need to whip out a few angel blades and the demon knife, because, well, it ain't no secret that they have the worst luck ever. In fact, it'd probably be a good idea to start off every hunt with the demon/angel/jackass-killing weapons _already out_.

 

Dean's lost track of where Sam is, but he can hear demons screaming in pain from the basement of the house, so he's about ninety-nine percent sure that his brother is still alive. He'll worry about that _after_ he's finished helping Cas gank the nine or so black-eyed hellions that’ve managed to back the both of them into a corner. There's a sagging wall to their right and back, a metal bookcase (seriously, who the _fuck_ has a metal bookcase?) to their left, and evil sons of bitches up ahead.

 

Dean isn't worried, though. Cas is mojo’d up, and they've both got demon-ganking equipment. This is gonna be no problemo.

 

Cas lets out a low, _primordial_ sound, and before Dean can even think of moving, the angel has smote two demons with his hand, and is inserting his blade into a third. At his friend's sudden fight, Dean snaps into action. He can't let Cas have _all_ the fun, can he?

 

The pair of them tear through the pack of demons until there's only one left. Cas shouts, “Leave it alive, I have questions,” so Dean settles for throwing holy water and salt on the bastard, and letting it writhe on the floor.

 

He turns to Cas with a grin, hand lifting for a high-five. But Cas isn't looking at him; he's staring under Dean's arm, at the incapacitated hellspawn.

 

“Dean!”

 

“Wha-” he asks, turning partially around before the air is _filled_ with the sound of Cas’ shouts and wingbeats and the _wethotno_ of a blade sliding home.

 

It's only later that he truly appreciates what happened. It's only later that he realizes that the blade was meant for him, was meant to _kill_ him. It's only later that he realizes that the last thing Castiel the angel did was _save_ him. _Him_.

 

But at that moment, all Dean knows is that there's a body pinned to his with the force of a blade.

 

A demon laughs, and Cas struggles to shove Dean away, struggles to get him _safe_. But Dean's still confused, and he wraps his arms around Cas’ waist, keeping him upright. In any other circumstance, he would've been embarrassed to have his chest pressed against Cas’ back, but this- this is necessary. It means that Dean knows that Cas is still there. It's silly, he knows, to want it protect this fantastic creature from a human knife. But he does anyway, because it's _Cas_.

 

But Cas is moving more, now, obviously trying not to hurt Dean with the force of his pushing. Dean's still not getting it - not getting why Cas wants him to let go, and then...

 

_Then_.

 

Ohfucking _God_.

 

The demon is back in his line of sight, its eyes glinting. The shine of an angel blade rests in its right hand, and Dean barely has time to comprehend what's about to happen before it-

 

There's a second where time seems to stop, where Dean can fully see what's going on. The demon, dark-eyed and beaming, has a long silvery blade buried in Cas’ chest, just over his heart. Cas himself isn't moving, isn't doing anything other than parting his lips to whisper, “Dean-”

 

And then the world explodes.

 

White heat burns in Dean's vision as Cas screams, and the hunter collapses from the force of it. His eyes squeeze shut of their own accord, and all that's left is the sound of something louder than Dean's ever heard. He can smell his own skin burning in the hotness, and it _hurts_. It feels like he's back in Hell, strung up and _broken_.

 

Dean sleeps.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Maybe it's only a few seconds later, or maybe it's a few hours, but when Dean wakes up, he feels like he was blasted with the contents of the entire Sahara desert. His mouth is dry, his skin is hot, and it feels like his eyes are cemented shut.

 

He hears the roar of a demon smoking out, and yanks his eyes open just in time to see a billowing cloud of demon guts streaming out of the house between a crack in the walls, the demon's vessel collapsing to the floor. Dead.

 

Dean blinks, curses, and notices that it's harder to breathe than it should.

 

There's a body nestled against his chest, head lolling. He'd be freaked out, but- those are Castiel's freezing hands, clamped over his own. That is Cas’ hair, tickling his neck. Dean shifts slightly, and Cas’ weight presses against his chest in a new way, startling a groan of pain out of his Sahara mouth. The skin on Dean’s chest, right under Cas’ back, is _burning_.

 

“Cas,” Dean grunts, shifting his friend's limp body to the side. “Gimme a hand, buddy. You're weighin’ me down.”

 

But Cas doesn't answer.

 

Dean notices the two _enormous_ shadowy wings, scorched onto the floor on either side of him and Cas.

 

He chokes back a shout when he realizes why it felt like his skin was burning. There are _wings_ printed onto the skin of his chest, above his heart, below Cas’ body.

 

_Cas’ body_.

 

_Body means he's fucking dead_.

 

Dean hauls Cas into his lap, arms clamping around the angel. The blade is still buried in his chest, but Dean pays it no mind, concentrating instead upon cradling his friend his friend in his lap.

 

_The friend I didn’t save_ , Dean thinks, _the friend whose wings are burned into my skin_.

 

“Cas,” he says, and his voice is broken, charred, and empty. “Sonuva _bitch_ , Cas, man, come on. Not this, not dead, not for good-”

 

He sees the tears before he feels them, dripping down his cheeks onto Cas’ face. He scrunches his eyes closed to stem the flow, dropping his head forwards.

 

He touches his forehead to Castiel’s, breath hitching with silent cries. He wants to scream, and curse God, and _hit_ something. But he doesn't, because Cas is gone, Cas is gone and he won't be able to come back-

 

Dean presses his nose to the limp body in his arms, inhaling that strange electric, honey, _ethereal_ scent that is – _was_ , dammit - Cas. His hands shake as he cups the angel's face, thumbs sliding over the light scruff that never seemed to go away or grow.

 

Cas’ lips are cold beneath Dean's. They don't move, don't respond even as Dean kisses him, a barely-there brush of skin that has Dean reeling with pain and loss and _could-have-should-have-would-have._

 

But then Sam's heavy boots are clunking up the stairs from the basement, and Dean jerks back, wiping his face. He stands, stretching Cas out on the floor, lining him up with the two charred wings. But he can't hide the burns on his own skin; they will never leave.

 

He sets his jaw as Sam bounds into the room, a grin on his face. Dean's heart breaks for his brother, for the smile that will soon fade away.

 

“Hey. Dean, I've taken care of th- What the  _hell_ happened to you?”

 

Sam's face drops, eyes skirting over the tattered cloth and burned flesh that covers the elder’s chest. Dean shakes his head, voice a rasp when he says, “S’nothing, Sammy.”

 

Sam shakes his head, about to respond, when-

 

“ _Cas_! Oh my God, Dean, why didn't you- How-”

 

Dean cuts his little brother off with a look. “There wasn't anything we could've done. Grab-” he takes a moment to steady his shaking breaths. “Grab the body. We need’ta bur- need to bu...”

 

“Burn it,” Sam finishes, hesitantly, when Dean falters. He nods, turning away from his little brother.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later, much later, when Cas is nothing but ashes in the wind, and Sam’s trying to keep busy to not tear up, Dean takes off his shirt. He stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom down the hall from the library, hands braced on the porcelain sink as he stares at his reflection.

           

Dean feels, on the inside, exactly the same way he looks on the outside. Which means he looks – and feels – like _shit_.

 

His eyes travel down the mirror to look at his chest. Splayed clearly across his skin, in charred black and burnt skin, is the base of Cas’ wings. If he didn’t know that they were, he wouldn’t be able to tell that the marks were anything out of the ordinary, but Dean _does_ know. And it _kills_ him.

 

He presses his right hand to his chest, wincing slightly as the pads of his fingers tug the still raw skin. After a few seconds, he releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and starts to talk.

 

“Dear Cas, who might possibly be gone for good, thanks a fuckin’ _lot_ for takin’ that knife for me. You could’a just healed me up after you went ninja on the bastard’s ass. I wouldn’t have minded getting’ banged up. I wouldn’t have died. Isn’t that friggin’ _stupid_ , Cas? Instead of me, some lousy human, it was _you_. You’re-“

 

Dean has to pause to breathe for a few seconds. His throat feels like it’s constricting, he can’t _breathe_.

 

“You’re an _angel_ , dammit. Angels ain’t supposed to die in the place of alcoholic bastards. Angels aren’t supposed to die, period. _You_ aren’t supposed to die. You’re supposed to be here, I can’t- Son of a bitch, Cas, I don’t know what to... to...”

 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut.

 

_Please_ , he prays. _Please be alright. And if you aren’t, if you’re fuckin’ dead, after everything, just promise me you’ll be waitin’ up there, okay? Promise you’re gonna be there when I kick it, man. I’ll bring you your wings back, I’ve got ‘em with me, I’ll keep ‘em safe, just- just be there. Be okay. ‘Cause I gotta beat your ass up for taking a knife for me. I’m not worth this._

After a few seconds of silence, Dean adds a quick _A_ _men._

 

* * *

 

 

 

_You still don’t think you deserve to be saved, do you, Dean? Not even after I’ve given everything for you, time and time again._

 

_I’ll promise to wait for you, but only if you promise me something in return._

 

_Promise me that you’ll live, Dean. Promise me that you’ll try._

 

_Please._

  
                         
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> (sorry)
> 
> Inspired by a bit of awesome artwork on Tumblr that I can't find right now. I'll put in a link to the artist when I find it!


End file.
